Of Dead Detectives and Toby
by Smilers and Winders
Summary: "Sherlock Holmes, 'world's only dead consulting detective', had been crashing at Molly's estate for four weeks, two days, and twenty-one hours." And taking care of Sherlock Holmes was like taking care of a child. Crack!fic, to relieve those Reichenfeels.
1. Chapter 1

Molly Hooper jumped at Sherlock's loud growl from the guest bedroom upstairs.

Seconds later, there were footsteps thundering down the stairs and a head of dark curly hair peering at her from the door to the kitchen.

"You don't have _anything_ for disguises!" Sherlock exasperated with a melodramatic look plastering his face.

Molly frowned and stumbled back. "Well…no, sorry. Don't s'pose I do. Er, tea?" Molly held out the cup of tea freshly brewed.

Sherlock blinked, then shook his head. "You'll have to go out for me."

"Go where?" she asked, pulling the teacup back towards her own cold hands.

The tall man in the robe glared down at Toby the cat as it rubbed against his legs. "The costume shop a few blocks down. I'll need a wig for now. I'll go out for clothes later."

"You…you have the money? Because I can pay for some things if you –"

"My brother is paying for everything," he exhaled, kicking the cat away from his legs.

Molly choked back the feeling to scold Sherlock about kicking Toby, but instead put down the tea and took the feline in her arms.

Sherlock Holmes, _"world's only_ _dead consulting detective", _had been crashing at Molly's estate for four weeks, two days, and twenty-one hours. And frankly, the gentle, quiet thirty-year-old woman was suddenly pulling out her hair and screaming in pillows when the man wasn't in the same room as her. He promised he'd only stay for around six weeks at most before resorting to Mycroft, but Molly was starting to think that it was high time he left. Taking care of Sherlock Holmes was like taking care of a child. Experiments, everywhere on her kitchen counters, in the windows, even in the toilet once. The poor woman was ripping out her hair every night. How had she _ever_ fancied him?

Molly counted to five.

"Okay, so…what kind of wig do you want?" she asked slowly.

The dead detective heaved a sigh and leaned against the door, sending it slamming against the wall and making the timid woman in front of him wince. "I looked at their store online," he explained, pulling a folded piece of printer paper out of his robe pocket. Unfolding it and handing it to Molly, he continued. "A red one. I think, that with a bit of make-up and new clothes, I could fool John Watson himself."

"I think your rouge may have been used up."

Sherlock was, much like Toby would be, spread out completely upon Molly's couch when she entered her home again.

Sighing, Molly slammed the box containing the red wig on Sherlock's ribs.

Sherlock "oofed" and mirrored a glare.

"Well?" she asked after a pause. "Aren't you going to get that thing on your head and trudge off to a T.K. Max or something?"

Another sigh from the high and mighty resurrected detective.

If Molly heard another one of those within the hour she might muse over the process of gagging another person in their sleep.

"I already went shopping," he commented dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Molly sat down on her futon. "Sorry? How'd you…not get caught?"

"May have used your straight-iron on my hair and sprayed it down with your hairspray."

Molly bit back a giggle. Girly-smelling Sherlock: that was a laugh.

"That was all?"

"Don't be stupid, Molly. I wore a cap and used your rouge." Molly pressed her lips together and breathed noisily through her nose. Sherlock noticed and informed her that 'everyone is stupid, not to worry.'

"Alright, so you bought clothes? How much?"

Sherlock gestured to the five large bags hidden on the side of the couch and Molly let out an "oh."

"This one's nice," Molly said, picking up a black leather jacket.

"Hideous," sneered Sherlock.

"But – but you picked all these out yourself?" asked Molly, confused.

"No, not really. There was a cart of clothes waiting for me."

Molly shook her head and didn't bother to ask, dropping the leather jacket back down upon the mounds of men's clothes littering her guest room's (and for four weeks, Sherlock's) wooden floor.

"Really, Mycroft. Do I really wear things like this?" Sherlock mumbled to himself, holding up a green t-shirt with a big yellow stripe across it. He held it like a damp towel with his index finger and thumb, wincing at it before throwing it across the room. The tall man's phone pinged and he looked down to see a text:

**IN SECONDARY SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY YOU WEREN'T SO JUDGEMENTAL ABOUT TIGHT-FITTING T-SHIRTS. **

**YOU'RE INCOGNITO FOR AT LEAST TWO MORE MONTHS, SHERLOCK. YOU NEED TO LOOK LESS YOURSELF AND MORE PEDESTRIAN. –MH**

Sherlock glared, sending a text back.

**I'M NOT THE COMMONWEALTH. DEACTIVATE YOUR CAMERAS. –SH**

Sherlock put down his phone again, sifting through ratty scarves and ugly plaid, looking at Molly smile as she snatched Toby into her arms again._ Sentiment._

This was going to be a bit not good two more months.

Molly thought the same. At least she had Toby.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews and criticism :D**_

_**Chironsgirl **__**recommended that Toby would cause trouble with the wig.**_

_**Well, I found that the best idea ever. Ha! Thanks, chironsgirl!**_

"Bored. Boring. Bored. Bore bore bore. You are a bore, Molly Hooper."

Molly sighed at the figure on her sofa.

"Ennuyé! Gelangweilt! Stufo! Circumforatus! Entediado! Aburrido!"

Molly looked strangely at him.

"French. German. Italian. Latin. Portuguese. Spanish. All of them mean 'bored'."

"You can _speak_ all of those?"

"Of course."

The pathologist was taken aback.

"Where did you get the time to learn all of it?"

Sherlock shrugged.

Molly shook her head and smiled. "Quite extraordinary, Sherlock!"

"I wouldn't say that," Sherlock replied, bouncing off the sofa and up the stairs to his room.

"Whatever you do, don't make a mess on that bed sheet. It's the second one I've bought for you." She took a chance. "A – a – and next time you're paying for it yourself!"

Sherlock mumbled something as he trudged upstairs. Molly took it that he was used to being scolded by John for his experiments. She'd only been to their flat twice, and it was horrid.

She settled with a women's magazine and a cola. Today would be wonderful. She had a date tonight with a handsome man named Rick, and a "GNO" tomorrow. Plus, Sherlock was being less obnoxious than usual. _I think I deserve some relaxing,_ she thought.

**_CRASH, THUD, CRASH! _**

There was a yell of alarm from Sherlock.

"MOLLY!"

Molly threw her magazine to the floor as she flew up the stairs at top speed. She was out of breath when she reached Sherlock's room. "Are you all –?"

The room was trashed, to say the least. The comforter and duvet were strewn across the room, pillows lain on the floor in odd positions. And there, in the middle of it was Sherlock, frozen to a spot, with a rolled up science magazine gripped in between his hands. Toby seemed to have frozen as well, clinging onto Sherlock's leg in a kill position, his black and white fur sticking up, blending with red…

Was that Sherlock's red wig?

Sherlock kicked the cat away, and it landed with a thud on its four legs. Molly scooped Toby up in her arms, tucking the tail underneath his bottom and cradling him like a baby as he squirmed.

"Sherlock…What have you done to -?"

"Your _feline_," he spat, "has taken my red wig and decided it is a lovely thing to chew on." He snarled at the animal and the it hissed back.

Molly hung her head.

"Sherlock…You can't keep doing this!" she cried. "You're destroying my house!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but Molly stopped him.

"No! No, Sherlock, you _can't_ keep doing this! I – I –…Everyone thinks you're dead except your brother and me. I'm basically adopting you – fostering you! You're like a bad dog!"

She sunk to the floor, hands in her face as Toby walked out of her arms and disappeared under the bed.

Sherlock sighed heavily, and looked down like a scolded child.

"I'm sorry. I…should have been more – more appreciative."

Molly removed her hands and looked up blankly. Sherlock Holmes just apologised to her.

Sure, it wasn't the first time. There had been that time at Christmas, where he kissed her cheek and strode away, leaving her feeling shocked and hot. Then, there was the time when he walked in the lab and said that she _did _count. And he needed her help.

Molly giggled. Sherlock frowned.

"What? What? What's so funny?"

"You look like you've been scolded by your mother."

Sherlock harrumphed and snatched the wig up before disappearing out the door and down the stairs.


End file.
